


the root of the root, the bud of the bud

by Cleveland



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Possible Fluff, Pre-Canon, Students, canon robot clumsiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 00:52:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4327617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleveland/pseuds/Cleveland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the fact my light fixture broke and I had to light a bunch of candles to see in my room my dear friend captainrainbowlegs wrote: That literally sounds like the setup excuse to make something romantic. OH EXCUSE THE CANDLES THIS ISNT A DATE I PROMISE. I JUST DON'T HAVE A WORKING LIGHT AT THE MOMENT</p>
<p>So here’s some Tony and Rhodey as students, somewhere in the early days of their friendship, eeking out what their relationship will be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the root of the root, the bud of the bud

**Author's Note:**

> Tony always reminds me of e. e. cummings poems. Read the first couple verses of You Are Tired and tell me you don’t think of Tony. Text of the poem is quoted as written in my copy of selected works.

The door clicks opens with a delicate snick, revealing a short hallway. On one side of the hall way lies the tiniest bathroom Tony had ever seen, on the other; a bedroom crammed with bookshelves, an entertainment center made of black milk crates, and a mattress covered in stacks of blankets and fluffy pillows. Tony follows James to the end of the hall, where there is a small but neat living/dining room entirely dominated by a beautiful and intricate oak table and one lone folding chair. Tony stops in front of it.

“I love what you’ve done with the place.” he deadpans.

“Grandma Rhodes insisted that I have it. There’s really no way to say no to that force of nature. My mother always called her Hurricane Hattie.” Rhodey chuckles, tossing his hoodie and messenger bag over the lone folding chair. “So...not much room out here but we can put some blankets on the bedroom floor and you can spread out your equipment there?”

Tony nods and heads toward the bedroom. He flicks the light switch on the way in. Nothing happens. He flicks it up and down a couple more times in rapid succession just for good measure. Click, click. Click, click. Click, click.

“Uhh, dude? What’s up with your light?” 

“Sorry man, just hold on a sec. My light has been busted for like...three months? Just stopped working one day and I never got around to fixing it.” as he talks he pulls a long nosed lighter off a shelf and begins lighting candles.

“So you’ve just been lighting candles for three months?” Tony asks incredulously.

“Well when you put it that way... Hope you like pumpkin spice, cause they were on sale three for a dollar in November.” 

As James goes around the room lighting candles, Tony drapes a soft throw blanket over the patch of clear floor. He unzips his backpack and begins taking out what appear to be mechanical parts and lining them up. He watches the flames dance and flicker around the room, the warm yellow orange light tinting his skin, and the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg just beginning to fill the air. In the dim light he looks over the bookcases lined opposite the bed. Along with old issues of tech magazines, college text books from years past, old refuse from second hand bookshops and family hand me downs, was two whole shelves devoted to poetry.

“I never knew you liked poetry.” Tony mentions, turning his eyes back to his task.

“Well I guess you don’t know everything about me yet.” Rhodey shrugs.

He runs his fingers over the books’ smooth spines and plucks one down at random. He settles crosslegged next to Tony on the floor, grabbing a pillow and shoving it under his butt on the way down. He watches the other boy construct what looks like an arm out of metal, listens to the faint whirring of the machinery, barely catches the sharp smell of oil over the candles.

“Read me a poem.” Tony jokes, still clanking a wrench against a piece of machinery. 

“I’m not reading you a poem Tony.”

“Come on, you’ve got me in your room with the candles lit--”

“It's only because my lights don’t work. I told you.”

“Yeah, yeah whatever. You’re not trying to seduce me. Read me a poem anyway.” Tony wipes sweat away from his eyes and smiles winningly at James. 

Rhodes sighs and gives in. He had taken down the selected works of e.e. cummings. He opens it somewhere near the middle and begins to read aloud in a voice clear and strong.

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in  
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere  
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done  
by only me is your doing, my darling)  
i fear  
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want  
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)  
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always  
meant  
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows  
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud  
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which  
grows  
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)  
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars  
apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

As he finishes reading, Rhodey can see the flashing dark of Tony’s eyes looking at him. He looks back for a second as he closes the book and fits it back into its slot on the shelf. They sit in silence that is neither companionable or awkward, just silent.

“So are you gonna show me this robot or what Stark?” Rhodey asks after the quiet has dragged on too long for his liking. They have been sitting so long one of the candles had sputtered out, leaving a wisp of smoke behind.

“Yep. Just gotta tighten this bolt. And...done.” Tony lets out a triumphant noise and the bot grinds and shakes to life.

The thing lets out little morse code sounding beeps and trills. It rolls backward and forward a couple inches, then begins to turn. In its effort to swing around it wildly miscalculates and slams hard into the nearest shelf, sending candles and books crashing to the ground.

“Shit!” Tony yips, grabbing madly for everything at once.

-

“Hey Tony, remember that time you almost burnt down my apartment?”

The bench he leans on is cool beneath his body, he can feel the temperature of the metal even through his jeans. The sunglasses he had neglected to take off give everything a gray tint. On his left, Tony is headed toward him with a beer in each hand. The beads of condensation spill over his fingers and drip on his shirt as he walks.

“Technically Dum-E almost burned down your apartment. Those candles were a fire hazard.”  
“Mhm.” James smirks. “My copy of Neruda still smells like cinnamon.”

“Fixed that light fixture for you though.” Tony says, handing his companion a beer.

“That you did.”


End file.
